'All the vampires walkin' through the valley …
'Move west down Ventura Boulevard …
'And the bad boys are standin' in the shadows …
'And the good girls are home with broken hearts …'
'And I'm free … I'm free fallin' …'

-'Free Fallin'' by Tom Petty.

-Evan-

'How the hell could you let this happen?'

'We-e-e-ell . . .'

'It'd be fine, you know, if you weren't so hell-bent on trying to be noble, for God's sake . . .'

Evan grimaced and shifted in his chair, trying hard not to blatantly stare at the almost-bared goods that were situated directly across from him.

He'd tried so hard, hadn't he? He'd really tried to be good by telling Valerie that he wanted her socks for winning the last hand. Unfortunately, she wasn't about to give those up without a fight—she'd paid thirty bucks for that particular pair, she'd said, and a lovely pair of socks they were since Evan had a very good view of them at the moment. Curse his luck, anyway, considering that Valerie had decided that Evan could and should be the recipient of her sweatshirt, which left him staring at those feet that she'd propped up on the table, crossed at the ankles, while he struggled like he'd never struggled before to keep from ogling her breasts that were just barely covered by a very feminine, very pretty, very lacy dark blue silk bra.

'It could always be worse,' he thought, deliberately taking his time as he slapped his hand down on the cards she'd dealt him and pulled them toward him.

'How do you figure, brainiac?'

He sighed inwardly. 'At least we can't see her panties . . .'

'. . . You know, there's a word for guys like you.'

'Gallant?'

His youkai-voice snorted. 'Stupid.'

He sighed inwardly and slowly shook his head. 'Yeah, that, too . . .'

"I like this game!" Valerie said, breaking into another bout of giggling punctuated by a very cute snort that made her giggle harder.

Which was true. When she laughed, certain parts of her really did jiggle—a lot.

"C'mon, c'mon, deal the next hand," she coaxed. "Oh! We need more sake!"

Evan blinked as Valerie stood up and paraded over to grab another bottle. So bemused that it took a moment for him to get a good grasp on what she was doing, he shot to his feet to stop her. She whirled around with a bottle in hand, crashing straight into his chest hard. "Oof," he grunted, stumbling back into his chair once more. Valerie lost her balance and plopped right into his lap with a round of giggling, snorting, and jiggling—and a very hard bottle smashed right into his ribs.

He was a dead man. That was all there was to it. Absolutely dead, and it was his own fault, too, wasn't it? Groaning quietly, closing his eyes, he tried desperately not to think about the idea that Valerie was on his lap and showing no signs of being ready to move. A moment later, she turned, doing entirely too much wiggling in the process—wiggling those parts that Evan simply couldn't ignore—and finally made herself comfortable as she straddled his legs, her crotch firmly pressed against his—close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from her through the thick fabric of his jeans, and he gritted his teeth as the fragile control he had over his body snapped.

He jerked back when she pressed her palm against his forehead, eyes flashing open as she frowned at him. "You don't feel sick," she decided, setting the unopened bottle of sake on the table and lifting her other hand to feel her own forehead to compare. She exchanged hands, her frown deepening. "You feel normal . . ." she decided at length.

Resisting the urge to grab her hips and grind his pelvis against hers, Evan shook his head. "I'm not sick, V. I'm horny. Huge difference."

She giggled again, which caused him to grind his teeth together. "Yeah," she agreed easily enough. "About, what? Twelve inches? Fourteen?" Her amusement died away, only to be replaced by a very serious expression. "You have a really big penis, you know." She leaned in to whisper to him. "I've seen it."

He didn't trust himself to reply to that, either.

"Have you ever measured your penis?" she went on, her expression brightening as she considered her question a little more. "You have, right? You're a pervert, so it stands to reason."

"Actually, can't say that I have," he replied.

She laughed and started to stand up. "Then I think I will. Someone needs to measure that thing. I mean, you might need to get a permit or something . . . Dangerous weapons and all that . . ."

A sudden and vicious surge of desperation shot through him. He didn't want her to get off his lap, damn it . . . Grasping her hips, he yanked her down hard and groaned involuntarily as she giggled and shifted around to get comfortable again.

"You've got a ruler around here, don't you?" she asked, apparently not ready to give up on the idea of measuring parts of him.

"No," he ground out, his forehead breaking into a fine sheen of sweat as he struggled to maintain some measure of control. "Woman . . ."

"You know, your lap is really uncomfortable," she complained, lifting herself just enough to plop down a few times like she was trying to fluff him up with her crotch.

Evan groaned again and tried to remind himself that he desperately needed to breathe. "Shit . . . I'm going to come if you keep wiggling around like that."

She rolled her eyes but giggled again, rubbing her nose when she snorted. "You're too old to come in your pants," she pointed out though she didn't move otherwise.

"You're never too old to come in your pants," Evan retorted.

"Oh, oh, oh!" Valerie suddenly exclaimed. "Check this out, Roka!"

He shouldn't have looked. He really shouldn't have looked. Valerie leaned back, looking down at her chest in thorough concentration, and Evan blinked when she started to flex her pecs. "Oh . . . damn . . ." he breathed, the throbbing in his crotch turning painful.

"Told you I can do it!" she gloated. "Watch, watch!" Lifting her arms, hooking her hands together behind her neck, she thrust out her chest and continued to flex.

Evan leaned down with a low growl and bit one of her nipples that poked at the thin fabric of her bra. Valerie gasped and squealed, pushing him back with a giggle as she hunched her shoulders and huddled against his chest. "You bit me!" she accused between bouts of giggling.

Evan scowled at her. She missed it since she had her face buried against his shoulder. "I'll do more than bite you if you stick those pretty titties of yours in my face again," he warned.

"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed, bracing her hands on his shoulders to push herself upright again. "Why is it so hot in here?"

Shaking his head slowly since Valerie had opted to ignore his last statement, Evan grasped Valerie's hips and reminded himself yet again that he wasn't about to do a damn thing, given that she was well and truly inebriated. Stood to reason, didn't it? She didn't accurately remember the last time they'd fucked, did she? He sure as hell wanted her to remember it this time around . . . Besides, nothing had really changed, had it? Damn it, why was it so fucking easy to forget that she was engaged to that little douche-bag most of the time, only to remember when he really didn't want to . . .? The next time he fucked that woman, she damn well would remember it . . . and she'd damn well not be wearing some other man's ring . . .

"It's not fair," she went on, oblivious to Evan's thoughts at the moment. "You men can just take off your shirt when you're hot, but women? No-o-o-o, we're stuck in these damn bras that I'm pretty sure were created by a man just to be uncomfortable for women . . ."

"So you think that men are responsible for things that make women uncomfortable?" Evan couldn't resist asking.

Valerie nodded emphatically. "That's right, Roka. You're probably the one who created them in a past life or something."

Evan rolled his eyes and chuckled a little tightly since he was still suffering the effects of Valerie's very close proximity—and thanking God for that bra while cursing it, all the same time. "Baby, if I'd have been there at the time, I'd have killed off the guy who created them. I'm a huge proponent of booby emancipation, you know."

Valerie stared at him, her cheeks still flushed, her nostrils quivering slightly. Her lips twitched, but she didn't smile. "Booby emancipation? Free the boobies, you mean?"

He nodded very slowly. "Absolutely."

She considered that slowly then nodded. "There should definitely be an Emancipation Proclamation for breasts," she decided with a very astute nod. "The girls of the world have been repressed for far too long, right?"

"I like the way you think, V," he said with a grin, or at least as much of one as he could muster.

Valerie's eyes widened as she grabbed handfuls of hair on either side of his head and yanked him toward her. "I should start the movement, don't you think?"

'Oh, damn . . .' Evan shifted slightly and grimaced. "Aw, I don't know about that," he drawled, sounding a lot more calm than he was feeling. "Maybe you should keep them under wraps for now . . ."

The wonder in her expression slowly shifted to one of complete suspicion. "Why?" she demanded. "You are trying to repress me!"

"I swear I'm not," he argued. "Damn, V . . . Just what the hell are you trying to do? Kill me?"

He loved watching her face, didn't he? The fleeting expression that were so deliciously delineated in her features were something to behold, and better, drunk as she was, those expressions were even more vibrant than usual, and the confusion that surfaced on her face was enough to make him heave a longsuffering sigh. "Of course I'm not trying to kill you," she insisted, shaking her head as strands of her hair flew around her like downy tufts of light. "Why would you think I was?"

Evan eyed her for a long second, wondering if she really was that oblivious to exactly how close they were. He wasn't certain if she really hadn't realized it or if the booze had somehow brought out a sense of naiveté that he'd seen glimpses of before—a naiveté that she hid behind her quick wit and sometimes cutting words. Somewhere deep down . . . was that girl who had been searching for someone to love her still there? And if she was still hidden in there, did Valerie even know it?

"Never mind," he muttered, sighing heavily since certain parts of him still hadn't gotten the memo that he really wasn't going to be doing a damn thing about the rabid lust that was close to driving him mad. "Don't worry about it."

"I love this song!" Valerie exclaimed moments before her hips started gyrating on his. Grooving to the song, or so it would seem, she either hadn't heard what he'd said or she'd chosen to ignore it. Either way, she was shaving years off his life, he was certain, just from her movements. It was maddening. It was infuriating. It was heaven and hell, all rolled up in one . . .

"I, uh . . . bathroom," Evan said suddenly, setting Valerie on her feet as he hastily stood up and strode toward the john. He had to do something, damn it, and he had to do it fast before he ended up doing something really, really stupid—something like throwing Valerie Denning on the bed and fucking the living, breathing hell right out of her . . .

"Fuck," he moaned as he slammed the door and leaned against it, letting his head fall back as his eyes closed, as he struggled to make his uneven breathing return to a semblance of normal. Those absolutely perfect breasts . . . the slight hint of a tan line over her already tanned skin . . . the knowledge that she must normally tan without anything on at all . . . she just had to have perfectly toned thighs, too, didn't she? No small wonder, was it? That woman went out of her way to keep herself in prime condition. In fact, he doubted that he knew anyone else who went to the lengths that she very obviously did, and he appreciated her efforts—of course he did. Appreciated them a little too much, probably . . .

He wanted her so desperately that he ached. Every single part of his body ached, but the part of him that ached the most . . . He had to do something about that or he really was going to die.

Chalk it up to having gone so long without a woman, something that he was certainly not accustomed to. Blame it on Valerie's relentless teasing, even if she didn't realize that she was doing it. What did it matter in the end when Evan was pretty sure that he was about to find out if any man had ever died from not getting enough pussy? They'd name the phenomenon after him, wouldn't they? 'Killed by lack of lovin',' he thought wildly as he yanked on the fastenings of his jeans. 'Not today, boys . . . not today . . .'

It only took about three strokes to get him off the first time, and his orgasm bordered on painful. Blinking, grimacing as he stared at the mess he'd made on the wall and floor of the bathroom, he grunted. It wasn't enough—not nearly enough. His penis was still throbbing, aching in such a way that Evan hadn't ever felt before, and the relief he'd felt at having jacked off in the first place didn't last for more than a few precious seconds before the ache was back, and perversely, it was worse than before.

"Damn . . . the never-ending boner," he grumbled, grasping it in his hand and giving it a healthy squeeze. It jerked wildly in his grip, and he grimaced. Somehow, he felt like a twelve-year-old kid who had just discovered porn . . .

It didn't take much more to get off the second time than it had the first, and he was no closer to getting rid of the boner afterward, either.

"Damn . . ." he mumbled, shaking his head as he stared in disbelief at his own penis—still quite happy and still very erect. There weren't many moments when Evan disliked being youkai, but this one was pretty close, all things considered . . .

'So think of something that'll take your mind off that woman out there and what she is—or isn't—wearing,' his youkai prompted.

Evan snorted, trying to stuff his junk back into his pants and wincing when the ache escalated. 'Like what?'

'Like . . . Like Cain . . . in a Speedo . . .'

Wrinkling his nose at the mental image that shot to mind, he sighed. 'That's just wrong,' he grumbled.

Evan glanced down and slowly shook his head. It was working to a point . . . 'Think, Roka, think,' he chided himself furiously. 'Umm . . . Sesshoumaru in a Speedo—a pink one . . . urgh . . .'

'That heavy woman at the A&P in a bikini?'

Evan nodded and let out a deep breath. 'Mentioning females in any capacity isn't really working so great,' he remarked.

'Okay then, the fat guy—the manager . . . What about him? God only knows he looks like he could use a bra or something . . .'

The mention of bras was a bad, bad thing since the image of Valerie shot right back to the fore, and with the mental image came the painful swelling in his penis again, too.

'All right, that was bad,' his youkai agreed quickly. 'Uh . . . um . . . The old man in that little school uniform you've seen grandma wearing in some of those old pictures?'

Evan snorted. 'Nah, that's kind of cute,' he mused with a shake of his head. 'The old man's got damn good legs . . .'

'Hmm . . . oh! Bubby . . . in a Speedo . . . One that's a couple sizes too small so that his gargantuan balls are all squished and bulging out the sides . . .?'

Evan considered that for a moment then grimaced. 'That's . . . kind of hot in a really disturbing sort of way, don't you think?'

His youkai sighed. 'Yeah . . . it kind of is . . .'

'Great . . . I'm never going to get rid of this . . . Between V, the lady at the A&P, the old man, and Bubby, I'm fucking doomed . . .'

'Ooh-ooh-ooh! Got it! The best one yet—the one that's guaranteed to get rid of that in two seconds or less!'

'Let's hear it,' Evan thought sourly, doubting very much that this one would work when the others didn't.

'Bubby and Gunnar in the middle of having some really rank gay sex!'

"Uh!" Evan grunted, unable to stave back the horrified expression that contorted his features. "I just wanted to lose the boner; I didn't want to break the damn thing!"

'But it worked! It worked! Check it out! And hey, if they really did have the rank gay sex, which one would be the bitch?'

Shaking his head rather vehemently, Evan tried his best to ignore that question as he finally tucked himself away again and zipped up his jeans before reaching for a towel to clean up the mess he'd made. "I think I'm going to be sick . . ."

'Yeah, but whatever works, right, so no complaining. 'Sides, we'd better get back out there and make sure that V's all right, don't you think?'

Probably, he figured, tossing the towel into the laundry bag hanging on the back of the door. Then again, he couldn't help the slight reluctance to do so. It wasn't that he was trying to avoid her, no, but there was only so much he could take before he broke down completely. Still, he was good now, wasn't he? He'd gotten rid of the immediate need that was plaguing him, and as long as he was careful, everything would be fine.

He didn't see her right away when he slowly peeked out of the bathroom. He frowned. Where was she?

Stepping into the main area once more, Evan stopped dead in his tracks, watching in abject disbelief as Valerie thrust out her breasts, reaching up behind herself to unhook her bra that she shrugged off with some difficulty that he assumed could be attributed to just how drunk she really was.

He forgot to breathe, forgot to think, forgot everything except for the sight of those immaculately shaped breasts. The pictures he'd seen simply didn't do her justice, did they? Absolutely not. Gorgeously perky, perfectly smooth . . . impossibly high rosy nipples . . . they weren't huge by any means, but they weren't small, either—definitely a good handful—well, maybe not to him since his hands were pretty big, but . . .

'D-Damn . . .' he thought—the only thing he thought—as he continued to stare. Mouth dry, his body frozen where he stood, he watched, unblinking, as she started bopping along to the song on the playlist she'd chosen. 'Da-a-a-amn . . .'

Standing up, she slowly turned around, and when she spotted Evan, she smiled. "There you are!" she said happily. "Where did you go?"

He had to swallow a few times and clear his throat a few more times before he could manage to speak. "Me? Oh . . . I was in the bathroom."

She giggled and started swinging the bra on the end of her index finger. "I've got a present for you!" she told him.

"Looks like your bra to me," he managed, wondering if his voice sounded as uneven to her as it did to him.

"Yes, but as the first male member of the Booby Emancipation Coalition, then you should be the first recipient of the Golden Bra Award—but this one's blue . . ."

Evan cleared his throat yet again, filled with unerring disbelief on some level at what he was going to say. "I, uh . . . I think maybe you should put that back on," he warned.

"Oh, don't be such a party poo—oops!"

She turned to stare as the bra strap that had been hooked over her finger slipped off, and if Evan had thought before that he was being punished for some perceived ill before, he was positive of it now. Staring in mute wonder, he couldn't do anything but watch as the bra shot through the air—and straight out the window.

Valerie gawped at the open space where her bra had disappeared from view for several moments before slowly, slowly, turning her head to stare at Evan. "Did my bra just fly out the window?" she asked dubiously, as though she didn't quite believe what she'd seen.

"Yes," he rasped out, his gaze still fixed on said-window. "Yes, it did."

"Oh . . . oh, my . . ."

He couldn't have said it better himself, and considering he still wasn't sure if he was being extraordinarily blessed or hideously cursed, Evan wasn't sure what to think.

"It must have really wanted to be free," Valerie said solemnly.

"Well, it's, uh, definitely free now," Evan allowed, feeling somewhat dizzy. A tiny waist, gently flaring hips, tawny skin—he could see the muscles in her abdomen flex with every breath she took . . . those long, long legs that he would dearly love to feel, wrapped around his waist as he drove his cock into her . . .

Her already wide eyes widened even more, and he blinked as the scent of tears filled his nose seconds before she launched herself right into his arms. "V? Wh-What . . .?" he stammered, unable to do more than groan softly at the electricity of her naked breasts smashed against his equally naked chest that was enough to short circuit his brain.

"But I just bought that bra—and the matching panties!" she blubbered between sobs, her voice muffled by his skin.

"W—I—We . . . we could stop the bus and look for it," he said, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that told him that it would take some doing since his brain had been too frozen to function properly when the bra had made its unceremonious escape, in the first place.

Valerie whimpered and shook her head. "But it wanted to be free, and that wouldn't be right, would it?"

Her powers of drunken logic were formidable—never mind the idea that he really, really wanted her to stay as shirtless as possible, even if it killed him. "Then . . . We should be . . . happy that your bra's moved on to bigger and better things . . ." he suggested. He could only hope that Valerie didn't remember any of this come morning . . . Then again, the way his luck was going, if she didn't remember, she would probably claim that he'd somehow managed to coerce her out of the damn thing . . .

"But what if someone finds the bra? They're going to ask where the panties are!"

Evan blinked and shook his head. "Oh, I'm sure that it'll be all right," he tried to reassure her. "In fact, I doubt that wondering where the matching panties are is really going to be the first thing that anyone really wants to know . . ."

"Soul mates?" he repeated as he tried to convince himself that he was just hugging her, comforting her, and wasn't at all trying to feel her up . . .

"Uh huh . . ." She gasped suddenly and leaned away from him. Unfortunately for him, she wasn't one of those women who ended up looking like a mess when they cried. Hell no. Eyes slightly reddened around the edges, yes, and nose just a little ruddy, her skin had actually paled a little, which only added to the dusty quality of her flushed lips. For a few precious seconds, he couldn't ignore the draw to kiss her. Luckily for him, however, she had other things on her mind, which was just as well, too, since he knew damn well that one kiss wasn't going to be enough for him . . . "You're so right, Roka! My bra must've wanted to be free! But you know something?"

"Huh?" Evan managed, gritting his teeth when she abruptly pulled away from him.

Valerie giggled, hooking the sides of her panties and pushing them down in one fluid motion. Kicking them off when they reached her knees, she dangled them from her finger as she shot him a triumphant sort of grin and climbed over the chair to the window.

It felt as though time stopped completely. Valerie was naked—completely naked. Unable to staunch the ragged moan that slipped from him, he couldn't think as the roar of the blood coursing through his body reached a fever pitch. No matter how many years he'd live and regardless of what the future had in store for him, he wouldn't ever forget the sight of her as she stood there with her panties hooked on her finger, a triumphant smile on her face . . .

"Goodbye!" she called, craning her neck as she tried to watch the panties as she flung them out the window, too. "Today is the first day of your freedom!"

'Good God,' his youkai croaked.

Evan could only nod rather stupidly.

'She . . . She's emancipated her panties!'

He nodded stupidly again.

'And she really does shave that pretty little puss-puss of hers all the time; not just in that picture!'

He gave the third stupid nod. He didn't even try to tell himself that seeing her literally bared goods wasn't sexy as all hell. Dieter had said once that he thought the idea of a shaved pussy was creepy since he'd feel like he was fucking a child. Well, there wasn't any way in hell that Evan was going to mistake Valerie for a little girl, not with her curves, and all he could really think was that the jacking off that he'd just administered hadn't done a damn bit of good . . .

"Come over here and sing them a farewell song," Valerie called over her shoulder.

Evan didn't move. What he wouldn't give to be on the other side of that window that she was currently smashing her breasts against . . . Now that would be a hell of a view . . .

'Except it's night, and that window's so darkly tinted that you wouldn't be able to see them, anyway—and what the fuck? You're getting a damn fine view of her naked ass, you moron! Just get her to turn around, and we really will come right in our pants, won't we?'

Yes, yes, he probably would . . .

Valerie sighed and turned away from the window, smiling brilliantly and very obviously pleased with what she'd done. "That's so nice," she insisted as she shuffled back over to Evan once more. "They'll be together forever now."

She wasn't stopping. Wandering closer and closer, step by step, she didn't seem to notice Evan's quite obvious discomfort. The boner he'd fought so hard to get rid of in the bathroom was back with a vengeance, and it was worse than it was before, straining against his jeans , which caused a friction so hellishly uncomfortable that he felt like he was going to die. In his dazed mind, he had to wonder if he'd ever been that hard before in his life, and as she approached him, one thing became crystal clear: he had to stop her. He really did. If he didn't . . . "Uh . . . V . . ."

She did the giggle-snort combo, her cheeks flushing just a little as her gaze dropped to his crotch. "Now that's impressive, Roka," she almost purred, her stare bright, intrigued, as she continued to stare. "Let me see it."

He blinked and eyed her, positive that he couldn't have possibly heard her right. "Huh?"

Valerie was having none of that, and she snorted. "I want to see it," she stated, her words slightly slurred. "Your pe-e-e-enis."

Completely nonplussed, or so she seemed, she kept advancing on him like a cheetah stalking her prey . . . "Stand still, rocker-boy. I'm just going to take a peek."
"Y-You already saw it once, V," he pointed out in what he hoped was a reasonable tone. The need for self-preservation was thick in his brain. If she touched him, he'd be lost, wouldn't he? If she touched him . . .

His hand shot out to wrap around her wrist to stop her, but he sucked in a sharp breath when she plunged her free hand down the front of his jeans. A white-hot explosion resounded in his head the instant she touched him, the moment she wrapped her hand around the thickness of him. Seconds later, he could feel the tell-tale tingling in his balls as they seized up, the precursor to what promised to be one of the most intense orgasms he'd ever felt. If she didn't stop . . .

Reacting before he could stop himself, he grabbed her wrist, yanked her hand away from him almost roughly—so roughly that she gasped, her eyes flicking up to meet his, and when they did, she stared, her protests dying on her lips before they had a chance to form.

"Don't play with me, Valerie," he growled huskily, narrowing his eyes as he fought to control his rioting senses. Every last part of him was screaming out for her. Glowering at her fiercely, willing her to understand just what she was doing to him, his emotions warred between the need to claim her and the desperate desire to protect her, even if that meant protecting her from herself. Maybe if she wasn't staring at him, her eyes taking on a sultry sort of slant . . . Maybe if she would just say something—anything—to break the spell she'd cast over him . . . maybe if he could remember just one reason why this was a bad idea . . . but none of those things . . . None of them registered in his mind . . . and with a fierce growl, Evan yanked her toward him, the sight of her flushed features, of the sudden spark in her scent that goaded him . . . He couldn't ignore her, could he? His mate . . . his woman . . .

Mouth descending on hers with a voracity that he didn't try to hide, deliberately unleashing the gale of emotion that she evoked in him, he kissed her hard, deep, furiously. Whether he was trying to deal her a warning or a promise, he didn't know, and Valerie—damn her, damn her—reacted in kind, biting down on his bottom lip with a little growl of her own. Evan gave her a rough shake: a reprimand? She retaliated by smashing her splayed hands against the flat of his belly as his flesh quivered under her touch, as his body seemed to resonate in accordance with her will. He'd never felt so powerless in his life, and somewhere in his lust-clouded mind, he knew—knew—that if he didn't stop her soon, he never would.

And it was nothing more than a simple need for some sort of self-preservation that forced him to push her back firmly, his hands shaking even more as his body protested the abrupt loss of contact with her. He felt as though everything inside him was crawling, clawing, desperately trying to escape, to run to her, and he cleared his throat with an uneven cough, closing his eyes for a moment in an effort to amass what was left of his crumbling resolve. When he opened his eyes again, she was frowning at him, her bottom lip jutting out in a very petulant sort of pout.

Swallowing hard, Evan ground his teeth together. The only thing he knew was that he had to put some sort of distance between them, as much for himself as for her. Turning on his heel, he strode off toward the bathroom, ignoring the pain that accompanied every single step. Even after he'd closed the door, he still was near to panic. The feeling inside him was worse than any sort of desperation that he'd ever felt before. In truth, he felt like a part of him was dying, and every second he spent away from her was killing him just a little bit more.

He didn't bother removing his pants as he hastily yanked on the zipper and shoved them down just enough to free his painfully erect penis. Wincing at the welcome release from the confines of his jeans, he wasn't at all surprised to see that the head of it was already glossy with the dribbles of semen that had seeped out. Grasping himself firmly in one hand, he gritted his teeth and stroked as he tried to tell himself that the situation wasn't nearly as unnatural as he suspected it was.

Her skin was just too damn soft, and the memory of it smashed against him was way too strong in his head. The taste of her lips, her breath, of the sake, still lingered on his tongue . . . The scent of her—of her desire for him—resonated in his nose with every ragged lungful of air he drew . . .

He could feel the tingling in his balls as it reached a painful cadence that bordered on agony, and he figured that orgasm that was working its way up was going to be one for the record books. In fact, he was almost there when the bathroom door crashed open and a still-naked Valerie stomped inside.

"You hate me, don't you?" she accused, her voice more throaty, more husky, more pouting than he'd ever heard from her before.

Grimacing since the first rattles of pleasure were already shuddering rampantly through his body, Evan gritted his teeth, choked out a terse grunt as spurts of semen shot out of him, raining down around him, running down his hand that was still gripping his penis tight, furiously stroking, yanking, wringing the last drops out of him as every single muscle in him contracted, as a delirious burst of adrenaline brought on the light headed dizziness that made him stumble. Collapsing on the closed toilet seat, he slumped back, his head cracking hard against the wall, the only sound in the quiet room the labored breaths that he fought to draw.

It took his brain an inordinately long time to kick into gear. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure how much time passed before he was able to open his eyes though cognizant thought was slower to return. Staring at the ceiling, he struggled to breathe as a welcome sense of lethargy seeped into him.

"It's not going away."

Evan blinked and lifted his head with some effort, and it took a moment for him to focus on Valerie's quizzical expression. Staring at his crotch with unabashed shock, she didn't bat an eye as she continued to gawk at him. "Huh?"

"Your penis," she explained. "It's still hard."

Somehow, that didn't really surprise him; not at all, but he managed a half-hearted grin. "Imagine that," he muttered, telling himself that he really ought to pull his pants up again, yet unable to summon the strength to do so. "And what do you mean, I don't like you? I think it's pretty damn obvious that I do."

Valerie, however, was completely absorbed in staring at his crotch. "Are you going to do it again?"

"Do what?"

She giggled, her cheeks pinking a little more. "What you just did . . .? Are you going to do that again?"

Grinding his teeth together, the very last thing that he wanted to do was to jack off with Valerie perched right there on the edge of the tub. "V, I don't think—"

"Do it! Do it!" she suddenly blurted. "I want to watch!"

"C-Come again?"

She giggled some more. "I've never seen anyone do that before," she explained as though it was the simplest thing in the world. "I mean, you're just, what? Jerking on it or something?"

Evan sighed, letting his gaze drop to his still very erect penis almost dejectedly. "No, Valerie. You rub it—stroke it. It's as close as you can get to having sex without having sex."

"So, it's an acquired skill," she concluded with another round of giggling.

He managed a wry chuckle. "Something like that," he agreed, wincing at the acute throbbing that just wouldn't go away.

"Anyway, anyway, go ahead and do your thing," she encouraged, completely enthralled in watching him. "I'll be as quiet as a church mouse."

He sighed. Common sense told him that he ought to just tell her to forget about it then get her the hell out of the bathroom. Common sense, however, held very little sway in his head at the moment, not with her sitting there, staring right at him. "V . . ."

"I'll help!"

Evan blinked and sat up a little straighter as sheer panic shot through him at the implications of what she'd said. Opening his mouth to tell her to stop, the words were cut off short when her hand reached out, wrapped around the thickness of him. Dealing him an unsteady squeeze, she giggled when he groaned and flopped back again, powerless to stop her, or so it would seem. A jagged haze enveloped his mind as a sense of shock seemed to suspend him in time. That she was touching him seemed so entirely surreal. Although he knew on some level that he really needed to stop her, his body simply wasn't cooperating. He couldn't stop her, could he? The call of her will was stronger than his own.

Her motions were jerky, clumsy, but nevertheless effective. His breathing rough and shallow, every muscle in his body taut as though he were being stretched to the very ends of his limits. "S-Stop," he muttered, shaking his head, squeezing his eyes closed against the sight of her, kneeling on the floor between his spread knees with her hands wrapped around his cock. If he opened his eyes, if he saw her there . . . "V . . . please . . ."

Her response was a quickened pace as though she thought that he was begging her for more. Maybe he was, or maybe he was begging her to walk away since his resolve was completely gone, obliterated in one fell swoop.

Somewhere in the back of his head, he heard the raspiness in her own breathing, the unsteadiness of her rising desire that hung in the air like the sweetest perfume. He wanted to reach for her, to show her what sex really ought to be, but his arms felt as though they were cast of lead. Fists opening and closing, tightening and releasing, he could barely hold on to what was left of his sanity, and with a painful surge that felt like an abrupt popping somewhere deep down, he groaned as the tormented pleasure of orgasm swept through him with a force so powerful that it was like an explosion of pure white light, the brightest in the universe, and it all emanated from her.

"Eww," she said, wrinkling her nose—the first words that managed to pierce through the stupor that fogged his brain. "It's so . . ."

Finally able to crack an eye open, Evan managed a weak smile when he caught sight of her, sitting back on her heels as she stared in unabashed wonder at her semen-covered hands. Rubbing her fingertips together, she shook her head slowly, as though she was having trouble coming up with the word that she wanted. "So . . ."

Drawing a few ragged breaths, Evan shook his head. "Viscous?"

She didn't look away from her hands. "Slimy."

Evan wheezed out a wizened chuckle as his eye slipped closed once more. "That, too."

Valerie giggled. "It smells like old pennies," she decided at length. "So, just what have you been eating, anyway?"

Evan grunted but didn't open his eyes again. "Minerals," he murmured, trying his best to fight off the lethargy that was entirely too hard to ignore. Mustering all that was left of his strength, he forced himself to his feet and quickly, albeit clumsily, righted his pants once more, rather viciously ignoring the unsatisfied desire that hadn't quite waned. When he finally glanced at Valerie, though, he grimaced and reached for a wash cloth off of the shelf over the toilet. The familiarity of his scent that permeated very inch of the room was clouding his abilities to think rationally, and seeing her, sitting there on the floor, looking at her hands as she giggled to herself was almost more than he could stand.

"Here," he said, dampening the washcloth and wringing it out before kneeling in front of her. "You're drunk, you know . . . really, really drunk."

She snorted and shot him an indignant sort of look. "I'm not drunk!" she insisted hotly, lifting her chin proudly as though to back up her claim. "Besides, that sake's too good to be alcoholic."

He nodded slowly, figuring that it wouldn't be wise to argue with her at the moment as he reached for her hand and started to wipe her fingers clean. "If you say so, V," he agreed. "You're totally going to bust my balls tomorrow, aren't you?"

Evan chuckled and shook his head. "Come on," he said, tossing the wash cloth into the sink and reaching for her hands to pull her to her feet.

"Ooh! Where are we going?"

"To find you a tee-shirt or something—and a pair of panties."

Valerie giggled and let him lead her out of the bathroom, leaning heavily on his hand. "I just got a really pretty pair of panties and a matching bra when we were in Hawaii," she pointed out. "Blue silk—really hot . . . Want to see 'em?"

Chuckling more, Evan shot her a grin. "You mean the ones you tossed out the window?"

She considered that then slowly nodded. "I did, didn't I? Because they wanted to be free . . ."

"So you said," he agreed with a shrug, letting go of her long enough to push open the closet door. He grabbed the first shirt he laid hands on and held it out to her. If he had any real hope for self-preservation, he desperately needed to get her covered. "Put this on."

She wrinkled her nose at the shirt he offered her and waved in blatant dismissal. "It's too hot for that," she insisted, pushing him away when he tried to stick the shirt into her hands anyway. "Besides, you said that the boobies should be free, right? Free, Roka: fr-r-r-ree . . ."

Heaving a sigh, he bent over to retrieve the shirt that had landed on the floor at her feet. "I did say that, didn't I?" he agreed grudgingly.

She nodded astutely and giggled before suddenly clapping her hands. "What other games do you know?" she demanded, carting around to stare at him and nearly falling in the process. Evan reached out to steady her, trying in vain to ignore the singe of her flesh against his when he yanked her upright, her body colliding with his. She blinked and gasped, her cheeks pinking a little darker as she slipped her arms around his neck, apparently uninterested in putting any kind of space between them.

"That's it," he lied, shaking his head as he wondered absently exactly how he'd ended up in this situation, to begin with. "Can't say that I know of any other games, V, sorry."

Valerie heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes. "You can't really say that you don't know any more games," she challenged, a certain level of poutiness thick in her tone. "What's the matter? Don't you like playing with me?"

"More than I really ought to," he admitted with a longsuffering sigh.

"Oh! I know!"

Evan gritted his teeth when she abruptly let go of him and shuffled over to the chair and flopped onto it, her back toward him, but his sigh of relief was cut short when she giggled and snorted again. "Lookee, look!" she slurred, propping her feet up on the seat. Luckily for Evan, he couldn't see much aside from the tops of her knees and about half of her head over the high back of the chair. "You wanted to see it, right?"

"See what?" Evan asked, drawing a cautiously deep breath—the deepest he'd managed since she'd so unceremoniously decided to shed all of her clothes.

She giggled dangerously and kicked her sock-covered feet straight up in the air at roughly ten o'clock and two o'clock. "The V, Roka!" she twittered.

Evan's heart nearly stopped as every ounce of blood in his body shot straight out of his extremities and straight to his groin.

'Don't you dare go look, Roka!' his youkai barked loudly.

'But . . . But I wanna . . .' he half whined.

'If you go look, you're a dead man!'

Squeezing his eyes closed against the sight of those very perfectly shaped calves, ankles, feet, he ground his teeth together so hard that they groaned and creaked is his head. 'Damn it . . . Damn it . . .'

When he made no move toward her, Valerie heaved a sigh and let her feet fall to the floor, bracing herself against the carpet as she pushed herself up the back of the chair and leaned over it, her hair dangling over, spilling to the floor in soft golden waves. "But you said that if I showed you the 'v', you'd eat my puss—" she started to say.

Evan stifled a groan but couldn't staunch the growl that issued from him at the mesmerizing sight of her breasts, upturned, nipples pointing at the ceiling. "I fucking know what I fucking said," he grumbled loudly, unable to hide his irritation that he simply couldn't ignore the woman, even if he desperately wanted to at the moment. Every nuance of her body spoke to him. Hell, even her scent, deep and heady, was thick enough to make him want to scream in abject frustration. Entirely too close to his breaking point, and if she were sober, he wouldn't have given it a second thought, would he? But no . . . no way when he knew damn well that she'd rail and curse him in the morning when she was clear headed enough to realize just what had happened.

She blinked and stared at him but didn't sit up. "You sound a little stressed out, Roka," she purred. "Maybe it would help if you talked about it."

"Stressed out isn't exactly what my problem is," he muttered, shaking his head and dragging his gaze off of her gorgeous breasts. Rubbing his forehead as he chucked the tee-shirt across the room, he forced himself to turn away, lest he give in to the urge to grab her and kiss her senseless. "Aren't you tired yet?"

"Tired?" she echoed, as though she'd never heard that word before in her life. "Why would I be?"

Evan snorted when she yawned midway through her question. Heading over to the bed, he pulled the blankets down and gestured at it as he glowered at the floor. "Come on," he coaxed gruffly. "I think you'd better sleep it off."

"Okay, okay," she allowed, much to Evan's relief. With every second that passed while she was parading around in the nude, his resolve was weakening, crumbling away like a rock being eroded by the ocean. There was only so much that he could stand, and being so attuned to her body was a double edged sword. How frustrating it was to know in his heart that she was the one that was meant to be his, yet here he stood, powerless to do a damn thing about it . . .? 'If I manage to live through this night, they'd damn well better name a frigging federal holiday after me,' he thought with a grimace. After all, if they could have a larger than life honking bunny hopping around delivering eggs, of all things, or a fat man in a red suit who was apparently able to squash himself through chimneys every damn Christmas, that was the least they could do, right?

She sashayed over to the bed rather unsteadily, but instead of crawling under the covers, she slipped her arms around Evan's neck, pressing her body against his again. He caught her wrists but didn't push her away, unable to ignore the insistent tug of her will. "V . . ." he murmured. He'd meant it as a warning. It sounded more like pleading, though. "Don't do this to me."

She misunderstood him—or maybe she understood him a little too well. Her laugh was little more than a husky whisper of breath against his overheated flesh, sending ripples up and down his spine: delicious shivers that toyed with him with unabashed abandon. Hands slipping over the bare skin under her fluttering fingertips, she uttered a slight little sound, almost a purr, nearly a growl, giggling to herself as his muscles jerked and jumped under her perusal. Gripping her wrists but offering no real resistance, he closed his eyes, let his head fall back, savoring the feel of her hands on him like a dream or a fantasy or maybe a nightmare.

Right and wrong: that was what he felt; entirely perfect yet more fucked up than anything else in the world . . . That he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anyone in his life was a given despite the underlying knowledge that it simply wasn't okay. Call it bad timing, call it karma, and still he couldn't push her away, didn't have it within himself to let her go.

When her fingertips slipped under the waistband of his jeans, however, Evan's eyes snapped open, a low grunt slipping from him as he yanked her arms up, out to the sides. "Stop it," he growled, pinning her with a hot glower, every emotion that she inspired in him bared for her to see.

Her breath caught in her throat, the heat of his gaze reflected in her own. Nostrils quivering, heavily rouged lips slightly parted, her eyes were incredibly bright, touched with just a hint of haziness that gave away her inebriated state. Even still, there was a sense of longing deep in the recesses of her stare—a longing that he had to wonder if she even understood. He opened his mouth to tell her that she really ought to sleep off the sake, but the words died away, evaporated, when she rose up on the balls of her feet—unsteady and uneven—and smashed her lips against his.

Why was it that he couldn't even summon a token sense of resistance to her? Why couldn't he push her away, tell her exactly how bad this really was? Ah, but conscious thought slipped away from him faster than he could catch it. Her tongue flicked against his lips, slipped into his mouth, tracing over his teeth, wringing a groan from the deepest recesses of his soul. Hanging onto her wrists like a drowning man might hold onto a bit of driftwood, he couldn't stop her as she grew bolder, more daring by degrees. As her kiss deepened, her body drew in closer, nearer: a wanton caress that neither began nor ended with a defined moment of inspiration.

Her heartbeat thundered in his veins, resounded in his head, melding the searing burn of his own pulse with the cadence of hers. She tugged on her wrists, seeking to regain her freedom. His grip tightened instinctively, but the motion was enough to catch them off balance, and with a grunt that was smothered by her mouth, they fell onto the bed, a tangle of legs and sensations and flesh.

She tried to tug her hands free again. Evan nipped her lips, offering her a warning that she summarily ignored. Rising against him, arching her back as she struggled to create more contact. Her nipples rubbed against his chest, tantalizing him, teasing him. So close, and yet . . . And yet he felt as though he were balancing upon a narrow wall with everything he'd ever wanted just out of his reach in front of him while the flames of hell licked at his feet from both sides below him. One misstep—just one—and he'd fall . . .

Instinct was fast overcoming what was left of his common sense. The draw of her body on his was entirely too hard to ignore. The resonance of her soul with his was too insular, too perfect, and when she rose against him yet again, he couldn't repress the fierce growl that erupted deep in his throat as he ground his hips against the very core of her. She half-whimpered, half-screamed, bucking her pelvis in a violent reaction. He gasped, face contorting as a painful jolt of need shot through him with a ferocity that left him reeling. Slamming both of her hands over her head, he grasped them easily in one of his own, freeing up the other to grasp her hip and squeeze, hard enough to stun her, not nearly hard enough to hurt her.

If he'd meant to shock her back to her senses, however, he failed miserably. No, if anything, his actions merely served to goad her further, faster, more frenetic. She whined and whimpered, tugging on her hands, to no avail. He could sense her need, could smell the desire that was driving her, and when she leaned up, grasping his bottom lip between her teeth and biting down hard, something snapped in his head, a wash of violent lust the likes of which he'd never felt before. There was no finesse in the hard kiss he smothered her lips with, a barely contained brutality in his touch when he grasped her raised knee, lifting her hips as he ground his against her. Tearing her mouth away, she tossed her head back, cried out as her body reacted, tensing, arching, heaving, close enough that the gentlest nudge could send her spiraling out of control.

And somewhere in the mad haze of his lust, a single thought permeated his mind, drove back the insanity that threatened to wash him away—a single word that took root, took hold, repeating itself over and over, starting off as a low whisper that gradually grew louder with no definitive voice: 'mate,' it said. 'Mate . . . mate . . .'

His . . . mate . . . and that thought was enough to temper his lust, to slow him down just a little. The woman he'd fantasized about, dreamed about, who haunted his every waking moment every single day . . .

Letting go of her leg, he dragged his claws up her side, reveling in the flesh that erupted in goose flesh under his touch, savoring the feel of her skin under his fingertips as he flatted out his hand, wrapped it around the fullness of her breast. She gasped as his thumb flicked over her nipple once, twice, arching her back, inviting him to touch her even as she tugged on her wrists almost desperately. Evan didn't let go.

Her skin was absolutely flawless, wasn't it? Smooth, warm, vibrant, welcoming . . . Torn between the need to feel every bit of her and the consuming, overwhelming desire to taste her, he grimaced and uttered a frustrated sigh, ducking his head as he slid down her body, bathing her nipple in a wide circle with the tip of his tongue.

She sucked in a sharp breath and went entirely still despite the involuntary shivers that ran up and down her spine. The already hardened nipple seemed to thicken, the already rosy tip darkening to a deep blood red as a light flush broke over her skin. The musky saltiness lingered on his lips, his tongue, the roughened texture of her swollen nipple filling his senses with a possessiveness that left his brain in a shambles.

Exploring every inch of her breast, stubbornly refusing to move on until he'd memorized every last inch of every last curve and hollow of her body, Evan closed his eyes, concentrated on the feel of her, the scent of her. He couldn't think of anything other than the burn of her flesh, couldn't remember anything other than the absolute need to make her his mate. Nothing else mattered, not in those moments: nothing but the overpowering knowledge that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

Kissing his way down the slight hollow beneath her ribcage, over the flattened flesh of her stomach, nuzzling against the velvety soft skin, he shifted slightly, furiously trying to ignore the incessant throbbing in his groin that was quickly morphing into the worst pain that he'd ever felt in his life. In the back of his mind, the dampness in his jeans registered—he hadn't come in his pants, no, but his body had released enough pre-ejaculate that he might as well have, but that didn't matter. What mattered to him was Valerie—what she was feeling . . .

A strange sound cut through his lust—a strangely harsh sound that took a moment for his addled brain to recognize, and when he finally did, he couldn't staunch the loud, irritated snarl that escaped him.

'She . . . She's snoring . . .?'

His youkai voice didn't answer as he pushed himself up on his hands and stared down at Valerie in complete disbelief. Sure enough, she was sleeping—and snoring—looking entirely too innocent, too angelic, for him to do much more than heave a dejected sigh. At least her snoring had one very positive effect on him, however: it was akin to a dousing in cold, cold water.

Shoving hard with one hand, he flopped over onto his back and smashed his hands over his face as the late reality of what he'd almost done started to sink in. If she hadn't fallen asleep . . .

Gritting his teeth, he rubbed his face furiously and started to sit up. He needed to get away from her, didn't he? Just for now—especially right now . . . Valerie, even asleep, seemed to be dead set on thwarting him, though, and she rolled over, nestling closer to him, cuddling against him and kicking her leg over his without missing a beat in her ungodly snoring.

For a moment—only for a moment—he considered trying to extricate himself from her siren's song of death by blue balls, but one glance at her face stopped him. Dark eyelashes fanning down over her softly blushed cheeks as the soft light from the lamp over the table across the room lent her a warm glow, an ethereal kind of illumination. Frowning as he watched her sleep, he carefully reached over, nabbing the sheet, he pulled it over her, tucked it in under her chin.

She might well be done for the night. Too bad he couldn't rightfully say the same for himself. His brain might be working just fine again. That didn't mean that his body had gotten the message yet, and he had a feeling that it was going to be a long, long night . . .

Valerie snorted abruptly then snored a little louder, smashing her face into the crook of his neck, and Evan heaved another long, low sigh as he carefully tucked the sheet around her, desperately needing to separate her naked breasts from his bare chest.

A long, long night? Making a face, Evan glowered at the ceiling. Yeah, he had a feeling that that was the biggest understatement of all time. There was absolutely no way—no way—that he'd be getting a wink of sleep. After all, that'd be too easy, wouldn't it?

Shifting slightly, she kicked the sheet down to her hips before smashing her body against his, much to his everlasting chagrin.